A tall storey but, a fact just the same : The Red Road highrise as a black box

Institute of Geography Online Paper Series: GEO-023 A tall storey but, a fact just the same : The Red Road highrise as a black box (to appear as part of a theme issue of Urban Studies on Supertall Living) Jane M Jacobs, Stephen Cairns & Ignaz Strebel Institute of Geography, School of GeoSciences, University of Edinburgh, jane.jacobs@ed.ac.uk Architecture, School of Arts, Culture and Environment, University of Edinburgh, Stephen.cairns@ed.ac.uk Institute of Geography, School of GeoSciences, University of Edinburgh, ignaz.strebel@ed.ac.uk 1

Copyright This online paper may be cited in line with the usual academic conventions. You may also download it for your own personal use. This paper must not be published elsewhere (e.g. mailing lists, bulletin boards etc.) without the author's explicit permission Please note that : it is a draft; this paper should not be used for commercial purposes or gain; you should observe the conventions of academic citation in a version of the following or similar form: Jane M Jacobs, Stephen Cairns & Ignaz Strebel (2006) A tall storey but, a fact just the same : The Red Road highrise as a black box, online papers archived by the Institute of Geography, School of Geosciences, University of Edinburgh. 2

Abstract The advent of state-sponsored mass highrise housing in the post-war period brought into view a range of issues about the role of technology in everyday life. This paper draws on approaches in the study of science and technology in order to deepen our understanding of the socio-technical aspects of such highrise housing, past and present. We elaborate this thinking empirically by examining a 1960s highrise development, Red Road, Glasgow. The paper examines the inaugural phase of development, and the most recent phase of redevelopment, the first stage of which is demolition. The paper extends existing accounts of residential highrises generally, and Red Road specifically, as well as elaborating an alternate analytical framework for understanding highrise and supertall dwellings. Keywords: highrise, mass housing, technology, black box, Red Road Introduction The aim of this paper is to delve into aspects of the socio-technical logics of the supertall building, using the analytical lens offered by studies in science and technology. We do so empirically through the example of the 28-31-storey 1960s public housing highrise development of Red Road, Glasgow (Fig. 1). In 2004 Red Road was earmarked for redevelopment, a process that will entail demolition of at least one of the eight highrises comprising the estate. Demolition is a fate that has befallen many highrises in the UK as social housing authorities deem them to be unsustainable. Our approach to Red Road is strategic and illustrative, rather than comprehensive. We examine two moments in the life cycle of this highrise development: in the first instance, aspects of the inaugural phase of planning and building; and, in the second, aspects of the recent phase in which redevelopment, including the plan to demolish, is underway. The policy framework that gave rise to highrise housing in post-war Britain has been insightfully analysed by Patrick Dunleavy (1981). Our return to the UK highrise is not to refute the necessity of such policy-based analysis, but to modestly enlarge the cast of actors (both human and non-human) that have come together to form the Red Road public housing apparatus (Dunleavy, 1981, p. 9). Similarly, the story of the Red Road in the history of British 3

highrise housing provision has already been told in compelling detail by architectural historians Miles Glendinning and Stefan Muthesius (1994, and Glendinning, 1992). Our return to the archive of Red Road is not in order to challenge this existing history, but to supplement it conceptually and narratively by looking anew at forgotten aspects of its development and encountering events associated with its current demise. Fig. 1: Red Road multi-storey flats in 2005. Authors image. The highrise and socio-technical relations The shock of the new widely imputed in modernist cultural production, and manifest in twentieth-century urban life more generally, was experienced in a particularly intimate and conspicuous way in state-sponsored highrise mass housing. The commitment of state bureaucracies to provide highrise housing en masse, in high densities, and by way of new economies of scale and innovative building technologies, meant an intensification of the role of technology in domestic life. The nexus between technology and domestic life was a central preoccupation of architectural visions of housing reform in the twentieth century. Parker and Unwin s interpretation of the Garden City idea, for instance, was enabled by technological innovations such as the railway, electricity, and telephone. Similarly, Frank Lloyd Wright s decentralized vision for living, evidenced in his proposal for Broadacre City, was predicated on the widespread use of the car enabled by an elaborate freeway infrastructure. Yet, in both models such technological catalysts were cloaked by the organically inspired housing forms and stood at odds to the nostalgic social worlds 4

envisaged. The architects drawings for Letchworth and Broadacre City are telling in this respect: the former omits any reference to twentieth-century domestic technology, while the latter illustrates unrealized technology (futuristic cars and helicopters) in a fantastical, science-fictional style. Representationally speaking, both visions appear to be uncomfortable with the existing and emerging technological realities. Sociologically speaking, they domesticate technology to fit conventional housing visions. The highrise, by contrast, was intended to be a pragmatic, technically driven housing solution that would radically re-structure the patterns and quality of domestic life. The architectural imagination that gave rise to this form of housing was motivated by the potentials economic, formal, social, spatial of new materials such as steel, innovative construction technologies such as rapid system-building, and mechanisms such as passenger lifts and integrated garbage handling systems. The highrise instituted new and unprecedented socio-technical configurations not only at the macro level of construction and delivery, but also through the micro patterns of daily life: accessing one s front door, removing garbage, insulating oneself from a neighbour s noise, or washing and drying clothes. The intensified socio-technical relations that mass highrise housing wrought were a consequence of the intersection of European avant-garde architectural theory and the imperatives of post-war reconstruction and slum clearance (Dunleavy, 1981; Hall, 1988; Ravetz, 2001). The state housing and planning authorities that responded to such imperatives found sustenance in the theoretical speculations of such figures as Walter Gropius and Le Corbusier. In the context of the United Kingdom it was, as Dunleavy points out, Le Corbusier s contribution that made by far the greatest impact (1981, p. 54). Le Corbusier s famous aphorism, a house is a machine for living in makes perfectly clear that this avant-garde architectural vision boldly embraced the idea of technologised housing. In his book Vers une Architecture (1986 [1923]) [Towards a New Architecture] (where this aphorism originally appeared) Le Corbusier complained that his architectural contemporaries failed to see, let alone exploit, the machinic world that was manifest around them. For Le Corbusier contemporary architectural beauty depended upon embracing technological values: efficiency, rationality, standardisation, mass-production. In pursuit of this he drew inspiration from everyday contemporary objects of technical innovation, such as the 5

car, as much as he did conventional architectural templates. This technological orientation was given expression in mass highrise housing in his La Ville Contemporaine (1922) (reproduced in his Urbanisme [The City of Tomorrow] (1987 [1925]). Dunleavy shows how state agencies in the UK came to adopt, develop, and implement specific policies based upon the architectural avant-garde s ethos of optimism about technology and its faith in the universal applicability of mass production building technologies. This vision came to link high flats with technological advance as a leitmotif of post-war housing reconstruction (McCutcheon cited in Dunleavy, 1981, p. 59). In the UK in the period up to the 1970s this manifested most boldly in the integration of industrialized building systems with the provision of highrise housing (1981, p. 61). i This commitment was followed up with official specifications of standards for highrise housing, such that an acceptable quality was guaranteed. This is clearly illustrated in the 1961 publication Homes for today and tomorrow, otherwise referred to as the Parker Morris Report. This report, written under the auspices of the then Department of the Environment s Central Housing Advisory Committee, sought to advise on standards of design and equipment applicable to family dwellings (Parker, 1961, p. iv). It addressed family housing in general, but with the expectation that highrise housing would form an increasing proportion of future public housing stock. Motivated by an appreciation of the special needs of those who live on high density estates (ibid, p. 28), and a desire to replicate in highrise housing the design standards of more traditional low-rise housing types, the report devoted a separate section to the highrise (ibid, p. 27). That section raised a range of design and space planning issues specific to the highrise, and each demonstrating the way in which it was explicitly framed as a housing form needing precise technological resolution: sound insulation, communal and private space standards, storage, lifts, balconies, indoor and outdoor space ratios, rubbish disposal, fire escapes, economical building systems. In the UK the optimism that saw the rapid and large-scale construction of highrise housing in the 1960s was quickly tempered by a range of technical and social problems manifest therein. As Dunleavy observed, [h]igh-flat building was the most extreme and conspicuous form of mass housing provision [and] has since become one of the most widely proclaimed (if unstudied) failures of public policy in this 6

field (Dunleavy, 1981, p. 3). In adjudicating why failure? technology came to be given a determining force. For example, an influential critique of the highrise as a mass housing solution was provided by Dutch architect Nicolas Harbraken, in his book Supports. Published at the same time as the Parker Morris Report, it positioned technology in an entirely different way. Harbraken (1972, p. 46) accused architects and planners of being bewitch[ed] by partially-understood technical possibilities which manifests in an automatism and uniformity in housing design. Social scientific accounts of highrise living often sought to test the social effects of living in the novel highrise. We might think, by way of example, of the long tradition of post-occupancy studies in which resident satisfaction with highrise living is measured and charted. A good number of these studies evidence a technological determinism, in that it is the highrise form (and its novel technologies) that is called upon to explain the quality of life of life of residents within. We can see this determinism clearly at work in the science of Oscar Newman s (1972) study of New York projects, and Alice Coleman s (1985) study of London multi-storey housing (see also Westergaard and Glass, 1964). In the context of Glasgow, Pearl Jephcott s study of resident views of highrise living, Homes in high flats (1971), drew explicitly (although not exclusively) on the case study of Red Road. It did so because the supertall character of Red Road meant it was a perfect field laboratory for observing problems residents might be experiencing with lifts, circulation systems and height. Each of these studies, directly or indirectly, built upon a binarised understanding of the relationship between technology and society in which technology was assumed to have a determining effect on quality of life. Modernist architectural housing designs, the technocratic systems of housing governance that materialised them, and the early social sciences that commented upon them, replicated a very embedded structure for understanding technology in society. In each there was carried an assumption about the building technology and the occupant as distinct entities, with the technology, often as not, given a determining force. Indeed, in this selective sketch of the history of the highrise in the UK this structure of understanding manifested in both the vision of it as a housing solution, and the translation of it into a housing failure. Various accounts of modernity 7

routinely exhibit a technological determinism, although not all of it as instrumental as those we have just rehearsed. For example, Heidegger, in his essay The Question Concerning Technology, saw technological enframing as a negative symptom of modernity. For Heidegger technology had been transformed in the modern age from a truthful materialisation of human creativity, to an indifferent instrumental field. All earthly materials, including human beings, were, in his analysis, a mere a reservoir of raw material (the standing reserve ) for technological appropriation (Heidegger, 1977, p. 5). Furthermore, he felt that modern technology was reshaping complex inter-subjective social relations, producing a measurable predictability and delivering the pre-conditions for control and regulation (see for a similar view Mumford, 1934). As Feenberg notes, for such thinkers modernity is characterised by a societytechnology binary in which a unique form of technical action and thought extends itself deep into social life, threatening apparently nontechnical values (Feenberg, 2000, p. 295). More recent theorisations of the role of technology in society have challenged this type of thinking. Technology, it is argued, does not simply determine social life, rather it co-constitutes a relational field of society and technology. It is to some of this alternative thinking about the relationship between technology and society that we now turn. Theorising the black box The relationship between society and technology has preoccupied the field of science and technologies studies, which, among other things, has sought to understand the processes by which certain technologies stabilize, become ubiquitous, and effect change in society. Science and technology studies is a theoretically and empirically diverse field, and it is not our goal here to chart its scope (see Sorensen and Williams, 2002), nor even to account in detail for the range of studies that engage directly or incidentally with a technology that might variously be described as housing, building or architecture. This analytical field has produced numerous and diverse encounters with buildings of various types (e.g. Gieryn (2002) on a laboratory, Brain (1994) modernist housing, Jenkins (2002) on a commercial office, Jacobs (2006) on highrises, as well as studies of environmental innovation in housing technologies (e.g. Guy and Shove, 2000; Lovell, 2005) and studies of the consumption of domestic technologies (e.g. Barlow and Venables, 2004; Schwartz Cowan, 1989; Shove, 2002). 8

In addition, the leading thinkers within Actor Network Theory have, on occasion, illustrated theoretical points by recourse to building processes and housing technologies (see as an example Callon and Latour 1981). Our first step in rethinking the society-technology nexus with regard to the highrise is to displace the binary structure sketched above. This is not about substituting a reductive technological determinism for a more detailed accounting of social or political determinants, as in the revisionist analytical frameworks of, say, Dunleavy s (1981) policy study, or Glendinning and Muthesius s (1994) architectural history. Nor is it simply about highlighting the way users or consumers appropriate housing technologies for their own ends (see, as examples, Chua, 1996; Miller, 1988). Similarly, recent social constructivist styles of analysis (e.g. Jacobs, Kemeny, and Manzi, 2004) while useful for articulating more complex sociotechnical constellations still tend to retain the social as the primary determining force. The analytical approach of Actor Network Theory attends more vigilantly to the seamlessness of the socio-technical field (Bijker, 1993; Bijker, Hughes, and Pinch, 1989; Callon, 1980; Hughes, 1986). A good deal of the analytical labour of studies of science and technology has been spent understanding the way technologies and socialities co-produce the world. For Latour (2005, p. 81) this task involves tracing the history of technological artefacts, and often those that have receded into the background. ii Actor Network Theory does not simply place the categories society and technology as equal actors or equivalent determiners, but re-conceives the world as an assemblage of heterogeneous objects that cannot, a priori, be categorised as technological or social. This conceptualization privileges terms such as network (or assemblage), collective, symmetry and heterogeneity. Within studies of science and technology two specific types of socio-technical assemblages have attracted much analytical attention: these being the technological success and the technological failure (Russell and Williams, 2002, p. 41). Latour (2005) articulates the heuristic value of this interest by arguing that successful technologies are significant because the socio-technical associations that hold them together are so seamlessly enmeshed they become invisible, while the significance 9

of failed technologies rests with the fact that previously invisible associations are, at the moment of failure, revealed. A specific study that has at its heart thinking about success and failure is Law and Callon s (1992) study of the life and death of an aircraft. In it they show that the machine that fails is as interesting to technology studies as the machine that succeeds. For it is through the technology that fails that one can detect how objects, artefacts, and technical practices come to be stabilized (Law, 1989, p. 111). And in that story, one comes to understand that context (those who make the machine) and content (what is inside the machine) cannot be distinguished, that they are part of the socio-technical coevolution of the world. In the theoretical vocabulary that social studies of technology have developed, the notion of the black box has a special place. The idea of the black box is a focal point for understanding the question of socio-technical stability. Latour borrowed the term from cyberneticians who use it whenever a piece of machinery or a set of commands is too complex. In its place they draw a little box about which they need to know nothing but its input and output (Latour, 1987, pp. 2-3). The cybernetician s black box, Latour argues, allows a range of conditions associated with the development of a given technology (for example, controversies that may have been attached to its invention) and its inner workings (its complexity, say) to be closed off (ibid, p. 3). This closure is possible because a range of translations (specifications, scientific studies, policy formulations, material forms, development targets, to name but a few) have variously worked to enrol a wide array of others to the technology such that none of them can desire anything else any longer (Callon and Latour, 1981, 296). With the turbulence of its invention consigned to history, its mutability stabilised, it can acquire a kind of anonymity. As such, this anonymity allows a set of additional transformations to occur. Firstly, its status can grow and it can be understood as a hard fact and the work is does taken for granted (Latour, 1987, p. 139). Secondly, it can mesh with wider technological or social systems and grow big. Finally, it can become mobile, for once stabilised a diverse range of end users readily accept and deploy it unquestioningly. When the history of a black box is interrogated what is usually revealed is a mutable and controversial past, coloured by the risks individuals and institutions take in 10

developing it (risks to people s careers, financial risks, political risks), the claims and counter-claims that swirl around it, and the divergent trajectories of competing materials and technologies. This history leads Latour to claim that technological artefacts only ever make provisional claims on the status of black box. A black box technology is always susceptible to fresh problematisations, to renewed controversy, to unforeseen counter-claims. Scratch the recent history of any black box artefact and it usually reveals [u]ncertainty, people at work, decisions, competition, controversies that can be readily re-activated at any moment in the future (ibid, p. 4). Latour characterises this provisional state in economic terms. Black box stability depends upon a technological artefact being able to resist counter-claims and shed controversy. This state is achieved not simply because the technology is right, but because counter-claims are dissuaded by the escalating cost of disputing, (ibid, p. 83). In other words, a new technology achieves black box status when it becomes too expensive for rival institutions and agencies (speaking on behalf of rival technologies) to generate controversies around it. In what follows we return to the Red Road highrise with an analytical tool kit based on the conceptual frames offered by this alternative (more hybrid, more symmetrical, more heterogeneous) model of the relationship between technology and society. As we flagged in our introduction, we are interested in two specific moments in the fortyyear history of Red Road: the inaugural phase of development and the current phase in which it has been earmarked for demolition. By focussing on dimensions of the birth and death of Red Road we are self-consciously replicating a methodological strategy in which success and failure are viewed symmetrically, and equally relevant to understanding the ways in which socio-technical events work. A second feature of our strategy is that our analysis depends upon case materials gathered by way of quite distinct techniques. The evidence of the birth of Red Road belongs now to the archive, and it is through the many inscriptions deposited there that we are able to follow the varied actors (be they visions, policies, building standards, press articles, social scientific studies, materials or people) that assembled in the making of Red Road. The death of Red Road belongs to the present, and it is possible therefore to follow the heterogeneous actors involved in this process ethnographically. For the 11

purposes of this paper, we confine our attention primarily to a meeting held to rally residents to oppose the decision to demolish. Part I: Black boxing Red Road In this section we return to the archive of Red Road and examine some of the sociotechnical assemblages that allowed it to be built. In so doing we are conceiving of Red Road as being produced within what Jorgensen and Sorensen (2002, p.198-199) describe as a development arena. This is a dispersed space that incorporates a number of locations where action takes place, knowledge produced and visions dreamed, as well as artefacts, inscriptions and standards, human participants and materials. Our specific interest is in how Red Road garnered the many allies that worked to stabilise it, however tentatively and provisionally, as a housing black box. Building Red Road On the 28 th of October 1966 the then Secretary of State for Scotland, Mr William Ross (accompanied by his wife), formally opened the first, and tallest, of the six 31- storey point blocks and two 26 to 28-storey slab blocks which were to be the Red Road housing estate. Its innovative construction consisted of steel frame, supporting 5 in-situ laid concrete floors, and asbestos-cement insulation board and fully compressed asbestos cement sheeting for the outer cladding of the building (Bunton and Associates, 1966). The first tower was of a height unprecedented for residential construction in Britain. Red Road was far from finished when it was opened. Half the site was still under construction and the 1,350 dwellings would not be completed and ready to let until 1968. Pictures of the event show people surrounded by the unclad steel skeletons of highrises clearly still under construction. Controversies that had attached to the project in its conception and construction were effectively set aside that day such that the Red Road that was opened was assumed to be a closed black box. At the opening of that first block the then Scottish Secretary William Ross exhorted the project construction squads: Let s get on with it! Put everything you have into the completion of these blocks. Remember what it is for it is all for the ordinary people. It is your job to give them decent homes. This entreaty, in Latourean (1987, 12

p. 129) terms, serves to stitch the many hands and tools of the workers into the machinic logics of a mass housing programme servicing Britain s post-war housing emergency. The Glasgow Corporation s response to the post-war housing emergency was slowed by the lack of appropriate building sites. Led by Baillie David Gibson, convenor of Corporation s Housing sub-committee on Sites and Buildings, the Corporation devised a scheme which was intended to shorten the period of planning between the selection of a site and the commencement of building on it. That scheme envisaged the pre-planning of a range of standardised designs for multi-storey flats which would be devised specifically with an eye to rapid construction and to making optimum use of the Building Department s own resources (Baird Smith, Sinclair Gauldie, and Shankley, 1969, p. 4). If a site became available the appropriate plans could be selected from the ready-made range, thus curtailing the normal preliminaries of designing, detailing and costing (ibid, p. 5). To realise its vision the Glasgow Corporation s Buildings Department needed to be furnished with a multi-storey housing black box : a fully mobile housing design template (or set of templates) whose internal spatial and technical specifications were so stable that it could be deployed on any site without local adjustments being necessary. By 1960 the Housing and Works Department of the Glasgow Corporation submitted to the Sub-Committee on Sites and Buildings a report detailing a possible arrangement for the generation of highrise design templates. In the same year, the local architectural firm, Sam Bunton and Associates, already experienced in the production of multi-storey housing in Glasgow, were commissioned to provide designs of standard types of multi-storey flats or type designs (ibid, pp. 5-6). It was expected that these type designs would take advantage of the Housing and Works Department s existing resources, specifically its concrete-casting plant. There could be no clearer expression of a housing black box: a housing type that meshed seamlessly with existing sociotechnical systems, could be deployed in a variety of places, service many users, and respond to changing circumstances without having its internal technological configurations challenged. Indeed, architect Sam Bunton was so certain of the stability of his housing vision that he saw it as having incredible durability such that in the future the frames might be reclothed with external walls, windows, internal 13

partitions and finishings using the exciting new materials and methods stemming from 100 years of progress (Glasgow Herald, 1963a). When Red Road opened it was not its ubiquity, but its novelty that gathered allies. Its unprecedented scale acted as a rallying point around which supporters swarmed. For example, it was seen as a flagship development in a wider modernisation vision for Glasgow. Now Glasgow could lay claim to the tallest building in Europe, and one whose height was exceptional even in [comparison to] local authority residential building in the United States (Glasgow Herald, 1966a). In an Evening Times article entitled Glasgow s the tops!, Red Road was depicted as exhibiting space-age innovation. And in an advertisement sponsored by The Corporation of Glasgow and appearing alongside a celebratory newspaper account of Red Road s opening, the Superblock, as it was dubbed, was one in a list of attributes (such as the motorway) that marked Glasgow as a forward-looking city (Glasgow Herald, 1966b). Also drawn into the opening event were the many contractors, fabricators and suppliers who could proudly claim to have contributed materials and labour to the making of Red Road: Heatovent Electric (heaters), Turner Asbestos Cement (cladding and insulation), Scotcon ( True Flue refuse chutes), A.I.R. Ltd. ( Airvent ventilation systems); Stewart Plant (cranes, hoists, pumps and excavators), Weatherite Ltd. (aluminium fascias), Drysdale ( Pyromac automatic fire fighting plant), Braithwaite and Co (water storage tanks), Bellrock (gypsum inner wall linings), and Veedip, supplier of the industrial gloves that covered the many hands that worked to build Red Road. And of course steel manufacturers were one of the strongest supporters. In an advertisement headed A tall storey but fact, just the same, the Lanarkshire Steel Company Ltd attributed the acclaim Red Road enjoyed for being the tallest housing development in Europe to versatility and adaptability of steel. (Glasgow Herald, 1966b). We wish to take this housing, and the black box status it claimed, as a starting point for investigating the work that was required to stabilise it as a successful housing solution. Latour points out that the paradox facing fact-builders (here those who are engaged in making this highrise housing solution) is that they have simultaneously to increase the number of people taking part in the action so that the claim spreads, and to decrease the number of people taking part in the action so that the claim spreads as 14

it is (Latour, 1987, pp. 207-208, emphasis in original). In what follows we show how the Glasgow Corporation could neither control those who took part in the action of making Red Road, nor ensure it spread as the design-type they envisaged. We encounter these difficulties through two instances in the conception and construction of Red Road. The first deals with the material components that were used to build the project, and the controversies they carried with them. The second deals with the way in which the plan for a highrise design-type was radically altered by the specificities of its materialisation. Materialising Red Road We noted earlier that beneath the surface of any black box is uncertainty, competition and controversy. We also noted that stability or success in a technology is not simply about getting its internal workings right. It is also about relevant social groups coming to see that the technology has no problems or doubt attached to it, that there are not dissenters able to modify it (Pinch and Bijker, 1989, pp. 44-45). In this section we look at the way in which the ability of Red Road to lay claim to being a housing solution depended upon this kind of work. This work was not focussed, as one might expect, on the right or wrong of building high. In 1960s Glasgow it seemed there were few dissenters in relation to that vision. Rather, controversy emerged around the right way to build high: was it by using conventional building technologies like steel reinforced concrete, or was it by adopting new prefabricated methods in unison with structural steel framing? The architect for Red Road had elected to proceed with structural steel. That decision was, he argued, a consequence of the very high density requirements (212 ppa) the Corporation had set for the relatively small ( postage stamp ) site (Horsey, 1982, p. 177). The consequence of this, according to Bunton, was to rise to a height of over 30 storeys, well above the practical limitations of conventional concrete cross-wall systems. And once compelled to build supertall, Bunton argued, it was necessary for total safety to turn over to a structural steel frame (Bunton, 1969, p.1). Herein was established the central socio-technical alliance that materialised Red Road. In this moment the quest for a highrise design template, a local housing vision, an architect and a housing bureaucracy merged with industrialised production systems and the 15

very building materials such as steel. That socio-technical collective was itself a powerful force drawing others to the idea of Red Road as a housing solution. There was much to be said in favour of using steel frame construction methods, some of it was articulated technically and some of it socially. When the Glasgow Corporation committed to building multi-storey flats with steel frames at Red Road, it was lauded by local construction engineers for providing a progressive lead to steelmakers and steel-workers alike (Glasgow Herald, 1963b). As Bunton noted in a Letter to the Editor of the Glasgow Herald (1963c) advocating the adoption of high performance steel: [it] is the best material available in the construction field since it brings into active participation an array of steel erectors, and the resources of an industry which is at present only working at one third of its capacity The industry, in turn, was explicit in its support of steel in highrise construction. For example, in 1963 the North-east Coast and Scottish Heavy Steel Makers joined forces and advertised in the Glasgow Herald (1963d). The advertisement sought to reinforce the link between new steel and highrise building programmes: For multi-storey blocks of flats, choose steel.for its speed, its economy, its versatility, its improved fabrication and erection techniques. It also offered information on where readers might acquire their Plan to Build in Steel booklet, concluding that STEEL IS RIGHT (Fig. 2). 16

Fig. 2: Advertisement by the North East Coast and Scottish Heavy Steel Makers, The Glasgow Herald, 11 March 1963. The tone of this advertisement, its list of steel s attributes, its claim to the material s rightness, and its mention of choice, suggests that the use of steel at Red Road may not have been a settled matter. Indeed, for a few months in 1963 the pages of the 17

Glasgow Herald played host to a strident debate between Red Road architect, Sam Bunton, and the then Scottish manager of the Cement and Concrete Association, Peter Russell. Russell spoke on behalf of a more standard building technology, steel reinforced concrete. The concrete industry was itself adjusting to changing fortunes, in its case those resulting from the turn away from on-site muck and wheelbarrow construction to prefabricated techniques, including those involving steel frames. In an article that was responding to a previous article detailing recent innovations in the application of structural steel in building, Russell challenged steel s very rightness. He did so by opening up the matter of fire risk, a risk that is based on steel loosing its structural integrity when exposed to relatively low intensity fire. In conventional tall constructions of the time, steel was used in unison with concrete (steel reinforced concrete) to produce a fire resistant structure. Although Russell s article does not mention Red Road explicitly, its does refer in general terms to Glasgow s recent commitment to build high and the paramount importance of fire resistance in builds over 30 storeys (Glasgow Herald, 1963e). It is unsurprising that Red Road s architect should feel compelled to respond. In a Letter to the Editor Bunton attends at length to the difficult to comprehend accusations about the fire risks of structural steel. In its defence he mobilizes the allies that reside, by proxy, in international construction industry standards, reminding readers that structural steel is always insulated against the spread of fire in accordance with world-wide specificational requirements such that it is as sound and fire proof as any concrete building (Glasgow Herald, 1963c). Furthermore any architect using structural steel in tall constructions is compelled, he points out, to work with fire specialists to determine satisfactory escape routes, the location of fire safety doors, and high-pressure water access. Responding to Bunton, in turn, Russell reiterates his concern about fire risk, even in structural steel that has insulation cladding (Glasgow Herald, 1963f). In doing so he too calls in allies, in this case facts produced by a laboratory test of the fire resistance performance of steel reinforced concrete. In contrast, he has at hand only strong doubts about the fire resistance of structural steel insulated with light hollow casing (as was to be the case with Red 18

Road s asbestos casing). Bunton forcefully returns to the fray by relegating the argument about fire risk to the least factual of categories, that of the red herring. His defence of steel as a construction material for highrise housing is addressed to the many others who, unlike Russell, appear to be swarming towards his vision of Red Road: It is imperative to make it clear and categorical that his remarks are completely misleading, and that people who reside in tall steel-framed buildings protected and encased in fire-resisting materials do so in the maximum conditions of security and safety (Glasgow Herald, 1963g). In this set of exchanges about the technical merits of steel versus concrete, the material technology that was to guarantee the adequate fire resistance of structural steel is mentioned only in passing. To ensure the structural integrity of steel in this highrise housing context Bunton must combine it with another material, asbestos. Although today asbestos is known to pose serious dangers to human health, and so is deemed unsuitable as a building material, in 1963 this danger was not widely accepted and so it could still be mobilized as a powerful ally of steel. iii As Bunton confidently reminds readers in an article featuring Red Road in International Asbestos Cement Review, 1 and 1/2 hours protection to the structural steel work (Bunton, 1966, p. 26). Steel and asbestos in partnership with social others operate as the collective that stabilises Red Road and holds it together, albeit provisionally, as a viable safe housing solution. Translating Red Road 1 The last of the completed dwellings in the Red Road development were handed over to the Glasgow Corporation in December 1968, some 5 years after piling had begun on site. But it was over a year earlier, in October 1967, and when only 40% of houses were complete, that a request was issued by Councillor Muir to the City Chamberlain to establish an Inquiry into Red Road. An Inquiry such as this had as its remit to enquire into the facts of a situation, in this case the overspend on construction and the failure of relevant parties to predict that overspend. Of course a more securely stabilised black box, effectively insulated from dissenting voices, would not require such scrutiny. In contrast, technologies that malfunction or fail very quickly attract scrutiny because the varied allies that had worked to hold them together demonstrably 19

stop doing so (see Law 2003, Jacobs 2006). When the Inquiry looked inside Red Road and found other facts, it began a process that opened it up again, transforming Red Road from a widely supported housing fact into a more fragile and vulnerable socio-technical entity. Under the scrutiny of the Inquiry even the use of steel, the material that seems so central to Red Road s black box status, came to be questioned. In investigating the overspend of the project, the attention of the Inquiry came to settle upon the way the architect departed from his original brief, and the deficiencies in the Corporation s systems for commissioning and monitoring contracts. As noted above, Sam Bunton and Associates had been contracted by the Glasgow Corporation to produce a standard design type for multi-storey flats, one that exploited existing building technologies controlled by the Corporation and served its needs to build quickly on a range of sites. The Inquiry found instead that Bunton produced something at Red Road that was anything but standard. Nor was it a natural outgrowth of original contract to devise a standard type (Baird Smith, Sinclair Gauldie, and Shankley, 1969, p. 21). Rather Red Road had come to be a novel, unprecedented, experimental, speculative, singular project, and its claims to offer a housing template that was efficient and economical deemed illusory (ibid., 1969, pp. 42, 49, 31, 33, 53, 60). Red Road was, the Inquiry concluded, produced in an atmosphere of improvisation (ibid, pp. 30). The facts that the Inquiry uncovered about Red Road s production translated it from a design type (standardised, stable, mobile) to a crafted object whose final form had been (excessively) influenced by the contingencies of its making. The first of those contingencies was the Red Road site itself. It was only months after Sam Bunton and Associates had been engaged to produce a generically applicable highrise design type, that a 20-acre in-fill building site become available at Balornock (ibid, p. 7). It was at this point that a brief to generate generic highrise design template/s came to attach itself to the specificities of one particular site, a site that Bunton later complained was one of the worst building sites in the city (Bunton, 1969, p.4). It was also at this point that the usual sequence of building development (site-design-build) transformed into a far messier assemblage. One component in this rearrangement was the Glasgow Corporation which was involved in its own 20